


Canvas

by multipurposetoolguy



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (don't do that), 1 Metric Ton of Purple Prose, Anal Sex, Gratuitous Artistic Metaphors, Kylo Ren Cries During Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Mentions of Kitty Piddle, Sexual Marks and Bruises, Smut, Supportive Spicy Boys, aaand my favorite tag, artist!Kylo, but like, every time i namedrop a famous painter take a shot, really flowery artsy smut, supportive probably law or something boyfriend!hux, thats right fellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12091419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/pseuds/multipurposetoolguy
Summary: Kylo is a struggling artist who's doubting his worth, and Hux decides to show him exactly how talented he really is.





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Droneshard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droneshard/gifts).



> This is primarily for my beebs [droneshard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droneshard/pseuds/Droneshard) bc she spoils me with fic and general love and affection DAILY and I promised her some smut <3

The minute Hux closes the front door behind him and toes off his brogues he can tell something is off. There is no music blaring from Kylo’s shitty little pill speaker he refuses to replace, no sounds of clattering pans and food boiling over, let alone the dour cloud of a bad mood that’s practically tangible in the air around him.

The apartment is silent, the kitchen light the only one on in the house and spilling forlornly across the hall, and Hux sighs. He’d really been looking forward to the steaks Kylo had been texting him about grilling up for dinner.

Resigned to having to order takeout and already mentally rummaging through the stack of menus in the junk drawer, Hux loosens his tie and rounds the corner into the kitchen. He stops suddenly, blinking down at the neat little pile of white paper boxes from his favorite Thai place already sitting on the counter, tied up neatly in a plastic bag. _Huh._ He sets about untying the bag and setting the still-warm boxes out one by one, and a shred of light glints up from the bin and catches his eye.

He peers down to get a closer look and notices with a pang that it’s a shard of porcelain, his favorite mug laying in pieces with the garbage. He has only a second to mourn its loss before Kylo speaks from where he’d been sitting, still as the dead and unnoticed at the kitchen table and making Hux nearly drop a handful of pad see ew.

"It was an accident, but after the mountain of shit that has been my day-” He heaves a defeated sigh. “Yours was an accident, mine was on purpose." Hux's eyes flick back to the trash and he notices the shards of Kylo’s own favorite mug mingled with Hux's. He snaps his eyes back up at Kylo, steely and ready to scold him for destroying things in the wake of his mood swings like a toddler knocking a pile of blocks over, but Kylo doesn’t meet his eyes and slumps down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands, looking for all the world like a sad, balled up piece of paper.

When he finally speaks it’s so quiet that Hux almost misses it. "....I bombed the interview."

The fierce and protective thing inside him that had coiled in his gut when Kylo came into his life tenses, and he sets down a box of noodles too hard on the counter. "What? What happened? I’m sure it’s just nerves getting to you, your work speaks for itself-"

"My work speaks for itself until I _speak over it_ and call one of the directors a hack because he said my B series was 'derivative and meandering'." Kylo hunches over again after his outburst, head piled on his folded arms and voice muffled. "Doesn’t matter how fucking great my stuff is, it doesn’t mean anything if I can’t fucking sell it."

He can practically hear his father’s armchair squealing as he’d lean back, bemoaning the ‘entitled, weak-chinned youth’ and how they were destroying the economy sitting around and asking for money for fingerpaintings instead of getting a real job. But the bastard’s dead, and Hux had run away with a moody painter who made him feel like the world maybe wasn’t completely horrible, so he’s confident he knows who’s laughing now He shakes his head to clear it of the griping specter and scoffs.

"It’s hardly your fault if sodding pop-artists have tunnel vision and can’t see _good_ art when it’s staring them in their designer Ray-Bans." Hux looks out across the living room, where one of his favorites of Kylo’s paintings hangs above the television. It’s all thick, wild strokes and colors like the inside of a hearth when the fire is lit, and Hux personally paid a large and probably unnecessary sum for it, to show Kylo how valued his work is to people who _get_ it just as much as to hoard it for himself _._ Kylo seems to not hear him and just curls in tighter on himself, knees bumping the table and toes splayed on the kitchen tile.

Hux sets the food down and crosses the kitchen, petting Kylo’s hair gently and winding his fingers through the strands. "The right eyes just haven’t seen it yet. But they will, I promise you, and then they'll see and you'll see too." Kylo chokes out a strangled whimper and bangs a fist on the table to smother it, but Hux hears it anyway and bends to press a kiss to the crown if his head.

"Hey, none of that now. We've already suffered the loss of our go-to mugs, I won’t let my salt and pepper shakers join the dearly departed in shards in the bin." He smirks privately when that gets a watery snort from Kylo. He pulls the other man to standing and cups his face in his hands, leaning down until he meet his eyes.

"Now, I’m going to go change out of this stiff collar and you’re going to come show me what an artist you are, hmm?"

Kylo closes his eyes and tries to shake his head, which Hux expects, and pats his cheek and turns towards the bedroom before he can properly protest, trusting he will follow. Hux had had kind of a long day himself, work being relentlessly dull and dreary, and when Kylo got into a funk it was best to remind him of what he’s good at snap him out of it as soon as possible, before Hux caught his mood and they exploded at each other over infantile nonsense. How he plans to get Kylo out of his rut is probably Hux’s favorite emotional support methods, and as such, dinner could wait until they were satiated in other ways.

Hux disappears into the bedroom and changes into his nicest pair of lace panties and a shirt Kylo had painted for him years ago, an angry caricature of Millicent with the words 'Cat Daddy' in bright pink painted above it. It’s atrocious, and utterly priceless to him. He's got a flowy matching camisole on underneath, one that Kylo had picked out for him last February, and he lays out on the bed and waits.

When Kylo comes in and sees him he groans, covering his face with his hands. "You said you threw that away," he accuses, glaring from between his fingers.

"That was just a show for Millie’s benefit, she had to think it was gone for good. You know how she loves to piss on my best things."

Kylo drops his hands and levels him with a flat look. "You hate that shirt."

Hux smirks at him and gives him a knowing raise of his brow, stretching languidly across the bed and watching Kylo watching him. "I do. I tend to grow quite fond of things that I hate, if you'll recall."

Kylo rolled his eyes, the smile tugging at the very corners of his mouth feeling like a gold medal in Hux's hand.

He’s still smiling just the ghost of a smile when he drops to kneel on the mattress, Hux spreading his legs wide and welcoming. Kylo catches sight of the shirt again and snorts, before bunching his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it across the room.

“You’re ridiculous,” He mutters, and when he leans forward to kiss him gently and slowly raise the hem of the horrible cat shirt, Hux hums into his mouth. This was also Kylo’s preferred usual method of therapy, something they could miraculously agree on.

When Kylo feels the gossamer baby blue of the camisole he grins in earnest, peeling the cat shirt up and over Hux’s raised arms. Instead of tossing it away to join his own shirt on the floor he tucks it under one of the pillows, knowing just as well as Hux does that if Millie finds it on the floor later she _will_ soil it. Kylo taking care to protect it is touching, and Hux is going to make this that much better for his brooding Bosch.

Hux gently takes Kylo’s hands and raises them to his abdomen, encouraging on their path under the fabric and up the soft paleness of his stomach to cup his ribs in two broad palms. His hands feel like buoys keeping him afloat, when Kylo holds him like this, and the contented sigh that slips from Hux is as natural as breathing, softly in and softly out. Kylo’s thumbs find his nipples and Hux drops his head back on the pillow as he circles them long and slow, rolling them between his fingers as they quickly harden. He slides his hands up Kylo’s arms, drinking in the heat and passing every mole like a marker on a well-worn map to paradise. His hands reach their destination threaded in Kylo’s hair, washed fresh for his interview that afternoon and smelling like Hux’s green apple three-in-one shampoo.

Kylo dips to mouth wetly at Hux’s clavicle and Hux cradles his head, holding him there like he’s red-hot and ready to brand him. Hux throws a leg around Kylo’s waist where he’s kneeling over him, making his sweats slide down a bit. He can feel the blood pooling at the surface of his skin as Kylo sucks a bruise into where his neck meets his shoulder, and he tightens his hands into fists against Kylo’s scalp, making him gasp and release his skin with a beautiful wet sound.

Kylo pulls back only far enough to look down at him, pupils blown wide and nearly devouring the whites of his eyes. Hux runs his hands from his hair to his face, cupping one cheek while the other trails a finger down the swollen rise of his lips. He pulls the bottom one down gently, raspberry red and gleaming with spit in the low light, and Kylo drops his jaw open at the touch, taking Hux’s finger into his mouth and sucking greedily. Hux can feel the hot wetness of Kylo’s tongue wrapped around his finger and he huffs out a smile. _Greedy thing._ Luckily Hux intends to give him everything he has, and then everything he doesn’t, too.

He leans in to take Kylo’s earlobe into his mouth briefly, biting down gently on the sensitive skin. Quickly but not rough, he uses his hooked leg and Kylo’s instability leaning over him to roll them so that Hux is straddling Kylo’s hips, Kylo blinking up at him over a hazy smile. Hux can feel the waistband of the panties digging into his shaft where it’s already peeking out over top of the fabric, thick and red and leaking already.

Kylo’s hands go to his hips, holding him tight, and he grinds up into Hux’s ass from where his erection is trapped inside his sweatpants. Hux’s curls in towards Kylo, running his hands over the firm rise of his chest and grinding down into him in turn, the friction of the underwear near-painful on his sensitive skin and downright delicious. He sits up on his knees enough to yank Kylo’s pants down, who raises his hips to accommodate and works them down his legs, kicking them to the floor. He’s not wearing anything underneath, a blessing in the moment, and when Hux sits back down he traps Kylo’s cock between them, so that it’s standing tall and rubbed flush against Hux’s lacy bulge.

Kylo groans and presses his head back into the pillow beneath it, hair splayed out around his face like a messy black Renaissance halo. Life imitates art, Hux supposes, and he suddenly has the urge to photograph this moment, Kylo beneath him like this, to hang it in a gallery or a castle or a museum to be revered by anyone and everyone who thinks they know what art is, what the word ‘beautiful’ really means. But that’s Kylo’s department, really, and he doesn’t have time for fiddling with a camera. He’s got business to attend to, and an artist to unravel.

With that in mind, Hux raises his arms to slowly peel the camisole up and off, arching his hips forward to rub their cocks together as he does so. He smirks as Kylo groans, his fingers digging into his hip bones hard enough that Hux knows he’s going to have bruises. He grins wider at the thought.

He decides to stop torturing him starts a mellow rhythm with his hips, rocking forward and dragging the material of his panties against both of them with every sway. He pries one of Kylo’s hands free from his hip and places it on the mark on his neck, smoothing his hand over Kylo’s.

“It’s like when you come home with paint on your hands, see? When you mark me like this?” Kylo gently strokes fingers over the mark and Hux arches into him harder, making his own breath hitch. “You know exactly where the colors go, baby.” Hux curls Kylo’s hand and drags it down his chest, sucking in a breath at the scratches his nails leave behind. Kylo takes it from there, pinching Hux’s nipple with his other hand until it’s red and swollen and dragging his nails down his stomach, leaving marks to match the others.

Hux moans at the sharp pain of it, heady and intoxicating when paired with the slide of their cocks between them. He looks down to meet Kylo’s eyes and again feels the overwhelming urge to freeze this moment in time, to carry with him like a polaroid in his pocket always. Sweaty and trembling and struggling to keep hold of something beautiful Kylo looks every bit the artist that he is, and if Hux gets his way Kylo’s going to make a masterpiece out of him before the night is through.

Hux runs a fingertip in teasing circles over the head of Kylo’s cock, dark and swollen and dripping little pearls down his shaft already. Kylo bucks underneath him and his big hands splay across Hux’s thighs, digging in hard. “Hux-”

“Side drawer, darling,” Hux cuts him off, taking his hand away from his cock. He won’t last long if Hux gets ahead of himself, and they aren’t done playing yet.

Kylo grunts and leans over slightly, reaching to yank open the drawer of the nightstand and fishing out a little clear bottle. He takes it from Kylo’s fumbling fingers and scoots back on his legs a bit, giving Kylo’s cock some room to breath. He squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers and rubs them together to warm it.

“Good art makes people feel things, right baby? That’s the whole point of any of it, to evoke a response?” He slicks his hand over Kylo’s cock as he speaks, languid strokes coating him in lube and making him shine obscenely in the dark of the room.

Kylo rubs his thumbs in gentle circles over his hip bones and struggles to breath evenly at both the contact and anticipation. “That’s- ah, yeah, that’s a big part of it,” He bucks up involuntarily as Hux gives him one last, long stroke.

“Yes, it is.” Hux sits up on his knees above Kylo, reaching behind himself with his messy hand to push the underwear aside and use some of the lube coating his fingers to prepare himself a little. He pushes his index finger in gently, as far as it’ll go, and grunts a little as he adds another and works himself open. Kylo stares up at him, transfixed, and Hux is sure he can’t keep the open affection from his eyes.

He shifts, and while he removes his fingers from himself he keeps his hand behind him to hold the panties out of the way. His other hand instinctively reaches out to steady himself and Kylo meets him halfway, fingers twining together in the air between them. They lock eyes, share a look, and then Hux is sinking down onto him all at once, filled up and held in place. They stutter out a breath into each other’s faces, their twined hands trembling between their bodies. Hux’s other hand comes around to brush a strand of hair out of Kylo’s face, and Kylo’s free hand snaps from Hux’s hip to trap Hux’s hand between it and his cheek. Hux smiles down at him, his beautiful boy, and lifts his hips a fraction before sitting back down again, the pressure tearing a moan from between Kylo’s fat, shining lips.

Hux’s face cracks at the feeling, Kylo filling him so deep he swears he can feel his organs moving around to make room, and his own poor, neglected cock weeping over the ornate underthings that it’s straining painfully to escape. “Look at me Ren, look at me and tell me I’m not feeling something only you can do to me." His face, contorted in pleasure and held together with adoration like rubber bands tight around a balloon is art made physical, and Kylo had wrought it into being with his touch, his hands, his heart. By existing as he did in this world and in close proximity to Hux he’d carved the artwork of this moment into being and he knew that Kylo was feeling it too, eyes wet and weeping silently beneath him as Botticelli must have at the birth of Venus upon his canvas.

Kylo’s never told him, but Hux knows why he comes home with paint on his hands, in his hair, on his clothes. He knows that it makes him feel like he’s earned the right to call himself an artist, wearing paint on his skin and clay under his fingernails like medals of accomplishment. Hux also knows that sometimes Kylo comes home covered in it and without anything to show for it, angrily throwing paint around his studio until he’s wasted enough materials to warrant slinking back home. He knows that Kylo clings to physical evidence of his creations because he hopes they’ll mark him and convince himself that he deserves them, that he’s doing what he’s meant to.

With all that swirling in his head and the bouncing rhythm that the two of them shaped together, Hux untangles his hand from Kylo’s and digs into his shoulders in a bruising grip, making damn sure that the marks his fingers leave there will be more permanent than any smudge of acrylic. He wants to tattoo the bruises onto his skin, his life and his work and his love intertwined in the nebulae of abused blood vessels that he can never wash off.

Kylo sucks in a wet staccato breath, hands wrapped firmly around Hux’s wrists and he rocks up into him faster now, every thrust pulling a little mewl from him as he gets close.

“H-Hux, I’m, I-” His mouth is moving but he can’t get the words out, and he clenches his eyes shut as Hux cups his face in one hands, riding him faster and faster. With a vice grip on Hux’s forearms Kylo’s coming, pulsing impossibly hot inside Hux’s deepest places. Hux rocks his hips through the orgasm, feeling Kylo turn to liquid beneath him, around him.

Kylo drops his arms heavily down onto the mattress, but not before shakily reaching forward to tug the waistband of Hux’s panties and let his straining cock free. The sudden loss of pressure has him coming all at once, unprepared and catching some nearly in his eye. His release runs in rivulets down his neck and chest, dribbling down into the bright blue of the lace now stretched down and pinned under his softening cock.

They just stare at each other for a long moment, breathing heavy and chests heaving, and when a sticky drop falls from Hux’s chin and lands on Kylo’s cheek, they dissolve into breathless laughter.

“If you even _think_ of saying the words ‘Jackson’ or ‘Pollock’ I’m never touching your dick again.” Hux threatens, wiping the glob from his cheek with his thumb and smearing it on the sheets. They’re due for a wash soon anyway.

Kylo leans into the touch and smirks up at him. “Oh, you mean my special paint brush-” Hux presses both hands to Kylo’s face to smother him, and Kylo splutters and grabs his wrists again, rolling them over and kissing him hard and sweet.

“Hey,” He says, hair falling around his face, and those big lips quirked in a soft smile, like they should be. “Thank you.”

Hux taps his nose lightly and eyes the bruises already forming on Kylo’s shoulders with a sly smile. “Don’t mention it, maestro.”

Kylo snorts, then flops over so that they’re laying together, his head resting on Hux’s chest and tracing the scratch marks he’d left. Hux’s arm slid around his shoulders, easy, natural. They lay together, just breathing up at the ceiling while their heart rates slow back to normal.

Hux breaks the companionable silence. "See? I dare anyone to call you anything less than an artist after that performance.” He gestures down at himself, his pale skin now littered with scratches and bruises and sucked-red skin patches. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

Kylo grins at his handiwork and huddles closer. "It’s not as if anyone ever gets to see the ah, _particular_ ways in which you are my muse… Unless-"

"No no no, _no,_ you’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking-" His brain is still mostly mush and he's struggling to be stern. He plants a hand across kylos face for good measure, which he just laughs around, the brat.

"Maybe my next project could be more... intimate, in nature? Maybe i could even feature my favorite subject-" He breaks off into giggles when Hux grabs the pillow they aren’t using and pretends to smother him with it.

"If you paint me without my clothes on I am _leaving you!”_ He’s giggling too, he can’t help it, and Kylo throws the pillow to the floor, fixing him with a faux-intense look.

“Hux, you don’t have to have your clothes off. You can leave the sexy panties on-”

_“Renjamin!”_

They collapse in a heap, wheezing and holding each other, and Millicent jumping up onto the bed and sniffing and pawing at Hux’s pillow just completes the absurd tableau.

They look at each other then, each one marked by the other and forged anew. Wordlessly they lean in and share a sweet, soft kiss, signing their masterpiece.

**Author's Note:**

> and then Hux's stomach grumbled and they remembered all the Thai food that has now gone cold, the end! :D 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed, it's been sitting half-done in my drafts for a while and it's good to have it finished and released out into the world! And look at me, master of fluff, writing my SECOND EVER smut fic, momma I'm a MAN now!!


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